


Hazy Shade of Winter

by yanderekirklandchan



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baking, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gay Billy Hargrove, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Hurt Billy Hargrove, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanderekirklandchan/pseuds/yanderekirklandchan
Summary: Neil Hargrove takes it a step too far, leaving Billy hospitalised and Max put up for adoption. Queue Steve Harrington coming to the rescue to give both brother and sister a home. However, they find that their saviour is suffering from his own family trauma.****Basically Steve and Billy centric angst, with comfort that leads to gay feelings. Also, everyone loves their teen mom Steve. Starts angsty but everything goes uphill.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Steve Harrington & The Party
Comments: 19
Kudos: 156





	1. Time, Time, Time (See What's Become of Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for extreme child abuse, graphic depictions of violence, noncon touching and spanking, minor character death, and just general darkness and angst. This is so dark but I promise everything gets better. 
> 
> Story and chapter title are from the Simon and Garfunkel/The Bangles song Hazy Shade of Winter (which plays when Nancy and Steve fuck and Barb dies).

People said that all things happened for a reason and Billy was trying to be more open minded nowadays so he didn't brush that off as the horseshit it was right away. That being said, he wanted one of the motherfuckers who said that to explain to him what the hell the 'reason' was for his dad using him as a punching bag. He grunted, falling to the side with the force of the latest blow, pain blossoming across his cheek, the copper tang of blood flooding his mouth. Neil had come home in a bad mood and that didn't bode well for Billy; hell, his dad coming home at all didn't bode well. If he were to get his way then Neil Hargrove would never return or, better yet, would stop existing entirely.

Something must have happened at work, or maybe on the way home after. Or maybe jackshit had happened to trigger Neil's foul mood and the man had just had a sudden revelation about how much he fucking hated his son and wanted to make him rue his sorry existence more than he already did. Billy decided it didn't matter what the reason was at the end of the day; it was out of his control and it led to him taking a pummeling. Of course, Neil had made some half-assed attempt at pinning this all on him, like he deserved it, but his attempt was so feeble and pathetic that Billy couldn't even remember what he'd allegedly done—or maybe that was because it was hard to think when your head was being smashed against a hardwood floor.

Billy was dizzy. He snorted at his own thought, yeah no fucking shit he was dizzy, that was what happened when you underwent head trauma. He was dizzy and in pain and could Neil please just turn his attention to a different spot for one moment so he could think? Billy whimpered, to his great embarrassment, and brought his arms up to shield his head, which was throbbing alarmingly. Fuck, he hated this. He hated himself. He hated Neil and how he could so easily reduce him to this—nothing more than a pathetic fucking whimpering child, curled up on the floor in the hopes Daddy won't hit too hard. He hated… he hated… everything.

Apparently Neil didn't like him shielding himself because the blows grew harder, his shouting louder. Billy didn't know why his dad bothered shouting, it wasn't like he could register the words leaving the man's mouth. Hell, he couldn't register most of his own thoughts. He wished he could say that it got easier, that he was some hyperstrong human immune to pain and that he could barely feel a thing anymore but that was utter bull. It hurt. It was fucking pain, that shit didn't get better. A suckerpunch to the gut hurt no matter how used to it you were. Used to it. Fuck, wasn't that a depressing thought? He smiled cynically, teeth glossy with hot red blood, a dribble of the hot liquid escaping his swollen lips.

The pain might not get any easier but he had learnt to sort of… zone out. His body couldn't escape, he was in a horrific situation and there was nothing he could do about it, but his mind had learnt to wander. That didn't sound normal—didn't sound sane. Billy had often wondered whether he was going crazy, it was a likely possibility after all. He didn't really like the thought, his own mind was all he had after all. No friends, no family, no home. Hell, even his body didn't truly belong to him, not when his skin was so frequently marred with handprints, tangible proof of how Neil owned him.

He wanted out. He was so damn close, almost eighteen. Then he could turn tail and get the hell out of this house, out of this town. When he was an adult things would change. Maybe Neil knew that, could see that his caged pet would run free soon. Maybe that's why he hit harder, because when Billy zoned into reality enough to register what was going on, he realised that that his dad was beating him an awful lot longer than usual, and the electric pain coursing through every inch of his body was more extreme than usual. His cheeks were slick with tears, though couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed, and Billy felt the need to scream in pain. That was strange. He was usually a silent victim, he liked the little control it gave him to not grant Neil the satisfaction of hearing him scream and cry. But this… fuck, this was bad. This was bad. 

Billy caved, he couldn't help it. The physical response to his broken body overran his mental battle and he screamed. With that, it was like a hatch had opened and everything left in him flooded out. He was reduced to pure instinct, no thoughts able to form around the pain. He screamed and cried, limbs kicking out messily around him as his body thrashed and convulsed to get away from the pain. Neil kept beating. Why did he keep beating? Did he really hate him so much? Billy knew his dad hated him but somehow it'd never really hit him till now. Hit him...

Billy's vision was patchy, he could vaguely process snapshots. The wall. His dad's eyes, face contorted with anger—panic blossomed within him in response. The too-bright light of the ceiling, causing his eyes to ache. A splash of vibrant orange. That was familiar… Maxine? No. Couldn't be Max. She couldn't be here, not when Neil was like this. He needed to protect her… Red. Red on the floor. Why was the floor red? It was supposed to be brown. He heard screaming that sounded different to the desperate cries escaping his throat, the high pitched sound blending into ringing… No. The ringing was in his ears. Maybe no one had screamed. After all, no one was supposed to know what Neil did to him. Respect and responsibility. No one was supposed to know…

The onslaught stopped suddenly but Billy couldn't tell, there was so much hot, bone deep pain throbbing across his whole body that it felt like he was still being beaten. He could only vaguely tell when a soft, clammy hand rested on his cheek but still flinched back instinctively from the touch. The hand was too small to be Neil's. He was also oblivious to the sound of sirens and shouting because by then, he was very much unconscious. His last discernable thought was wondering to himself whether this was finally the end.  
*******  
(Two Weeks Earlier)

Steve was upset. It wasn't unusual, really; he wasn't the most happy of people. But this time his sadness stung more than usual because he had been so fucking happy. This weekend was something he'd actually been looking forward to. Between demonic monsters from other dimension, parents who didn't give a crap, grades that were so low they practically didn't exist, and being bullied relentlessly by the people he'd once foolishly called friends, he'd been pretty fucking low recently. Yet somehow, with all that pushing him down, he had been happy, excited even, about the prospect of spending his weekend with his newfound friends.

It was strange, maybe even creepy and weird, that pretty much the only people he could call friends were all fourteen or even younger but it'd been a long time since he'd cared about that. Facing certain death à la Demogorgon really put things in perspective. Sure he was teased or even straight up bullied for his choice in friends but they made him happy, they made him feel like he had a place in this world and gave him not just hope that he could have a future but the actual motivation required to take steps towards it. And he loved them, each and every one of them, but he'd die before he told them that. He did have some dignity left, at least.

School was out for the summer—and out forever for him—so the whole Party had decided to just have a laid back weekend spending time doing whatever was fun around the town. It was more fun for the kids than him, really, though he was slowly learning to like all their nerd stuff. Besides, what made it most enjoyable for him was seeing those kids happy so he certainly wasn't complaining. He was the chauffeur, of course, and they were going to go to the arcade, the lake, browsing in the new mall everyone was excited about. He'd even been making plans for what to pack for a picnic that was healthy but also exciting enough for a bunch of young teens to happily eat. Well, it didn't fucking matter anymore what he packed because there was a car in his driveway. His parents were home.

When he was younger, Steve would do little short of selling his soul for the chance to speak to his parents over the phone, let alone to see them in person. Sure they were scary and cold, and pretty much only criticised him whenever they decided to briefly stop pretending he didn't exist. But as a young child he'd been stupid enough to believe that they loved him, that they were always right and he'd probably done something to deserve the way they treated him. Being alone made you grow up quickly, though, so he'd thankfully been disillusioned of those thoughts pretty quickly. But that idolisation and longing for love had been replaced with hurt, hatred, and bitterness, which he'd pretty much only grown out a few years ago—probably had something to do with almost being killed by actual real life monsters. He'd done drugs, partied, drank, had far too much sex, revolted in any way he could manage against anyone who dared come close. It was like living life as a firework; going too fast, burning up, heading on a one way trip to breaking point.

He missed it, though, because this shit… it sucked. Caring. Being guilty. Being responsible. Actually trying, because when you tried it made failure suck even more. Sure it still hurt that his parents didn't love him but to be honest he didn't know what he'd even do if suddenly they turned up out of the blue, kissing his cheeks and telling him how proud they were. He was still bitter every now and then but he didn't think all that much about his parents anymore, their absence was so commonplace he only really spiraled about his poor childhood whenever someone else brought it up. That being said, it'd gotten harder recently—the being alone—but for a completely different reason. Everyone else who'd gone through… all this crazy fucking shit, they had someone. The kids had parents, some had siblings. They had each other, who they talked to so freely. The adults had their kids and each other. He had… no one.

No one told him that it'd be okay when he woke screaming from a nightmare. Shit, no one was even there to notice or hear his screaming! There was no one there to tell him he was being silly when he thought the shadows at night were otherworldly monsters baying for his blood. No one told him to get some sleep when he decided he was too scared to even consider going up the stairs to his bedroom. No one told him off when he skipped meals every day because anxiety was churning his stomach. He didn't miss his parents, he didn't like it when they were around, but he did want someone. Anyone. Just… someone who was supposed to care about him and him alone. 

Someone who he didn't have to share the attention of because they had other responsibilities. Someone he ranked the top of the list of worrying for. Just one single person who thought he was worth more than others, who didn't just care for him as an afterthought. He'd never had that. Never in his life for as long as he could remember. It was selfish and stupid, he was just being a whiny, immature child but that was his dream, his biggest longing, to have someone look at him like they saw him as an individual, as who he was, and thought that he was special, admired him for him not just because they had to. It was just a pipedream, of course. No one had ever even said 'I love you' to him before. His parents despised him, his only friends were friends because with him because they had to be, and he was never fucking getting a girlfriend. All the 'popular' girls wouldn't touch him with a stick anymore and everyone else hated him, rightfully so he was an asshole. Still is.

This was one of the reasons why he hated his parents visiting. It made him think of all this shit. Steve's eyes were wide where he stood, staring at the showy car so typical of his dad. He'd never seen this one before but that wasn't a surprise, he was always getting the newest models. He contemplated running off somewhere, he had enough money in his pockets to afford a decent enough hotel for the next few nights and food, maybe he could just wait this out? But no, he couldn't do that now. Usually his parents dropped by around some holiday or special occasion, though even those they mostly cancelled, but this was just a pretty average time of year as far as that went. Well, there was one special thing. He'd finished high school. He'd gotten his grades. Or, more importantly, hadn't gotten them. Steve huffed a sadistic laugh as he walked up the path to his front door. Of course they would only come home to yell at him.

If they were mad at him usually then this would really take the biscuit, they actually had a real proper reason to be. Hell, even a super nice mom like Joyce would probably punish her kids for failing school enough to not get into college. He wondered what they'd do. Definitely shout at him. Probably beat him. Maybe take away his car? Would they decide to take a more hands-on approach since he was doing so shit on his own? No, he couldn't see that happening. Maybe they'd disown him completely. He couldn't be a disgrace to the Harrington name if he wasn't legally a Harrington anymore.

Steve felt his skin prickle in fear at that. The truth was he was dumb as shit and really fucking lucky to have enough money to live comfortably even if he was working a minimum wage job. How would he even survive without his parents money? Even thinking that made him sick, he hated it when everyone saw him as nothing more than a lucky rich boy, like he had no right to feel anything but happy and should constantly feel guilty for merely existing. But… that's what he was, wasn't it? He tried, tried so hard, to be more but at the end of the day he really was just a stupid, lucky rich kid. He was nothing without that. Would they kick him out of the house? He'd be homeless. He would die! Was that so bad? Maybe he'd have to become a prostitute, would anyone even pay for him? His dad always said he was too stupid to do anything. His mom always said he was lucky he was pretty.

Well, theorising in his head was no use. He had to just… go inside and get this over and done with. If they shouted, he'd let himself be shouted at. If they beat him, he'd take a beating. If they disowned him, it's not like he'd really been a part of the family in the first place. Steve took a deep breath and opened the door. Silence. He looked around, wide eyed and nervous. Where were his mom and dad? Maybe they were out… no, the car was in the driveway and everything was too far to walk to. He couldn't quite imagine his parents going for a pleasant countryside stroll through the woods either. Where the fuck were they? If they were gonna hit him, he wanted it to be over with already! He hated this suspence. His anxiety was bad enough without adding an actual reason to be anxious.

Steve was so hyper-aware in the silence that when there was sudden shouting and loud footsteps from upstairs he jumped, heart beating fast, adrenaline spiked. Clutching the tabletop for support as his heart raced, Steve frowned in surprised worry. Why were they shouting? His mom and dad didn't often invite guests to this house, especially not ones they would shout at. But that meant they were fighting with each other. That… didn't make sense, they never fought. Steve was under no illusion that his parents fit the bill of a normal American-dream family, he knew for a fact that they both slept with other people and their marriage was based more on mutual cunning than lovey-dovey bull. He'd seen his parents angry before, he'd seen them in action as manipulative, ruthless, spiteful people, but they were always a united front. They weren't emotional enough to get into rows like regular couples.

Steve didn't know how to deal with this. Usually he could read the room, know whether to keep his head down and stay quiet, talk his way out of punishment, brace himself for a beating, steel himself for humiliation and berratement, prepare for abandonment. But this… his parents fighting? It was scary. He didn't know what to do, but he was entirely certain it wouldn't end well for him. His mother burst into the room, face emotionless as her designer stilettos clicked loudly against the honey wood floor, closely followed by his father. Both were immaculately dressed in pressed suit jackets, his mother in a figure hugging pencil skirt that was both professional and provocative, his father all sharp ironed edges and platinum cuffs.

If he was anyone else in the world he'd think they were perfectly calm, that everything was normal, but he had grown up on the other side of their mask of deception, he knew his parents. For one, his mother never walked in first. She took glee in making men feel foolish and little but happily let his father take the wheel always, strutting around behind him like it was the best place to be in the world. His father's jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with anger which was something Steve wasn't used to. He'd grown to fear when his dad's eyes went blank and cold, that was the sign he was angry. He'd never been so angry that it showed in his eyes… Steve was suddenly regretting his choice of coming home at all. If they were going to disown him he might as well have run before he got the berating and trashing of his life. The biggest sign for his mother was that her hair was a mess. He'd never seen a single hair on her hair out of place, it was always ironed and sprayed to perfection that made his hair look like he'd been dragged through a bush in comparison. His mother was vain, irrefutably so, and her hair was her biggest pride.

"M-Mom… D-Dad." Steve choked out, the silence too painful for him. His hands were shaking so hard he had to stuff them in his trouser pockets, which did little because his legs were also shaking just as bad. He felt stupid, he was a legal adult now, hell he'd fought monsters and he was still somehow more scared of his parents than that. This couldn't just be about his grades, could it? Sure, his parents were humiliated by him but they'd known for all his life that he was always one of the stupidest kids, this was a disappointment but surely not a surprise.  
"Steven." His father said cooly, taking a seat on the sofa, which would probably have been a less intimidating sight had all their furniture not been just as pristine, cold, and unwelcoming as the man who sat on it.

Steve shifted nervously from foot to foot, he usually knew better than to do that, his father didn't like 'fiddling and shuffling like a mentally retarded infant' but he reckoned he was already in so much trouble it didn't matter. His mother took a seat on the arm of the chair, delicately perched there behind his father like a supermodel, eyes hawlike with a sadistic glint. Apparently, whatever their argument was they were going to join together again to unite in their attack on him. Great. Well, it wasn't like he'd expected their argument to be over whether or not to punish him or something, they would both clearly agree that he should be smarting by the time this was over. If it was ever over; getting rejected by college was the type of thing he imagined they wouldn't let him forget.

Steve was left the only one standing, which he thought was rather unfair since he was the only one who's knees could buckle at any moment. Of course he didn't voice his concerns, and he certainly wasn't foolish enough to try sitting too. This was a common arrangement, it was a power thing. They were both sitting because this was their house and they had the power, they could afford to relax. He was left standing because he was left at their merch, under their scrutiny, and certainly didn't have the right to get comfortable. His parents did it in business too, they were nothing if not strategic thinkers.  
"Do you know what the most important thing in this world is?" His father continued in a deceptively calm voice, peering at him along his nose like he was an offensive speck of dirt on his shoe.

Steve shifted uncomfortably, this felt like a trick. Usually, these rants were one sided and he was supposed to keep his head down and nod every now and then. A loud crack sounded in the room like lightning and he was left stumbling to the side with the force of the blow, cheek smarting hot and oddly numb. He hated how strong his dad was. Why couldn't be an ordinary fat cat who didn't have the strength to leave him aching with a single hit? To his intense shame, his eyes were hot and itchy with tears, seeping out onto his cheeks in heavy, hot drops. He didn't know whether it was from the pain or the humiliation but he supposed it didn't matter.  
"Power, sir." Steve managed to get out, voice barely a whisper. He was afraid he might be struck again for not speaking up but his throat was so tight it was all he could do.

If his father was pleased at the correct answer, he didn't show any signs of it. He didn't show any signs of anything, impressively statue-like, the only thing showing any emotion at all were his eyes that still burnt with unbridled fury.  
"And what brings a man power?" He asked, though even the question was stated like a fact, his tone was so authoritative.  
"M-Money, sir." If Steve hadn't been so terrified he might have been proud of himself for getting the words out when all he wanted was to run away and cry in a room alone and never see his parents ever again.  
After this, his father paused, simply watching him with his steely gaze and motionless features. Steve hated that look. The look that made him feel like the world's biggest problem, like no logic could solve him and there was no hope to fix him. It made him feel lower than dirt and even more stupid than he already knew he was. His gaze shifted to his mother but if he was expecting empathy the emotionless face, vague smirk, and sadistic glee glittering in her eyes did not provide.

"And," his father paused cruelly for another beat… then two… "What does a man do to gain money?" His voice had grown quieter, dangerously quiet.  
"T-They work for it, sir. They're int-telligent and d-dedicated." Steve knew where this was going but trying to stop it would be like trying to divert the flow of a river with a single bucket.  
This pause was far longer, in which his father shifted position on the sofa, leaning forward intensely.  
"So… Steven," he hissed his name like it was something foul "If you understand that… simple, simple concept then why the fuck did you fail school?"

During that final sentence, his volume grew louder till he was shouting so loud Steve's ears rang. He'd sprung up suddenly from his chair and had grabbed his arm so roughly Steve could feel finger shaped bruises forming that very second. He whimpered, shrinking down from where his father was looming over him, trying to back away but it was futile with his dad's firm grip.  
"Daddy, I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry… I-I'm sorry… p-please… 'm s-sorry… D-Daddy please...please..." Steve sobbed, any self control he'd had now terrified out of him.  
He wasn't usually this pathetic, but his father wasn't usually this mad.  
"Do you think this is some kind of game, Steven? Do you? Do you think life is easy, that this world won't eat a pretty little boy like you up limb by limb?" There was nothing Steve could do as his father gripped him like a vice with both hands and shook him roughly in time with every word, till he felt like his skull was rattling. This was definitely the 'stay quiet and nod' bit. 

"Do you know how fucking hard I have worked for everything I own, that you leech away every day like some filthy worthless parasite? The food you eat, the bed you sleep in, the ground you're standing on. The fucking air in your fucking lungs! I put it there. Me! Because of my fucking intelligence and dedication. And all I ask of you is to be even slightly a decent fucking human being that isn't entirely a waste of space. I've long ago given up on you being anywhere near as great a man as I am but I expect you to at least scrape the bottom of decency as a human and instead you are lazy and you are stupid and you humiliate me and your mother like this! You degenerate piece of…" the man cut off, throwing him forcefully away which led Steve to tumble to the ground, feeling momentarily stunned.

He didn't have much time to gather his thoughts, though, because moments later he felt new hands on him, smaller and forceful but thankfully not bruising. Steve was practically dragged by his mother up to a standing position, though 'standing' was generous since he was dragged to the sofa, stumbling along, and thrown across his father's lap. Steve instantly froze, his already frantic heart beating faster. His cheeks grew hot with shame, he knew what this position meant. His parents, on the rare occasion they were around, still spanked him. Steve didn't know whether they didn't realise that he'd long since grown too old for such juvenile punishments or whether they knew that very well and did it anyway as added humiliation. Which, if it was the latter, was very fucking affective because they always made it so humiliating he could scarcely stand it.

"D-Don't!" He managed to gasp out between his still prevalent sobs, hands shooting up to shield his ass and keep his trousers in place. He usually knew better than to fight it but if his father was already shaking him and slapping him before the punishment even began then he probably wouldn't be done with this spanking till his skin was purple and peeling off. Of course, his little rebellion was easily snuffed out by his mother taking both his wrists in front of them and pinning them in her lap, using her other hand to keep Steve in place on his father's lap. It was fascinating just how strong a person's grip could be when they didn't care how much they hurt you, he mused momentarily. Steve thrashed and tried to roll off the sofa, sure that if he could get on the floor he would be able to escape. He no longer cared about what would become of him, he just wanted to run away. He had no such luck, though, between both his parents keeping him there he was well and truly stuck. His struggles did earn him a punch to the back which had him reeling, spine tingling uncomfortably.

Steve gave up trying to escape, sobbing loudly as he resigned himself to his fate. He buried his face against his mom's thigh, the expensive, silky fabric cool against his hot, flustered face. He hated it. He hated her stupid designer dresses and her stupid cloying perfume and the way he could feel the warmth radiating from her stupid body as if she was a real human and not some emotionless beast. Steve was acutely aware of the fabric of his jeans and underwear as they were pulled clean away from his body, sticking on his shoes only a few moments before his father's rough tugging won out and they fell to the floor. He wanted to cover himself up but his hands were pinned.

He was eighteen fucking years old, his ass shouldn't be exposed for both his mother and father to see, his bare dick shouldn't be pressed up awkwardly against his father's leg. The feeling of his dad's rough pant leg against him made Steve incredibly uncomfortable, his skin felt like it was crawling and he just wanted to get away. To be alone again. Steve felt dreadfully exposed and really really fucking helpless as he shivered at the feeling of cool air against all his most private areas. In his opinion, the humiliation was probably enough punishment to last him a lifetime, so the pain was unnecessary. But of course that was too much to hope for. His breath caught as he felt his father shift and pull his belt out from it's loop, hearing a soft shuffling which he assumed was the man folding the heavy leather implement in half. Steve hated the belt, it hurt so fucking bad and left him bleeding for hours, though the wounds lingered for weeks, sometimes even a month. His parents always went for something harsh, which was usually the belt since his father always had one on hand.

Steve screwed his eyes shut, though it didn't make much difference since his face was buried against his mom's thigh and he couldn't see a thing. Still, it was the closest thing he could do to escaping this situation so he indulged, however pointless. His father wasted no time in starting the beating, raising his arm and cracking the belt down with ruthless force that had Steve thrashing all over again despite his mental decision to stay still and take it. The first strike hit him with force and though it landed across his ass, it felt like it knocked the breath from his whole body. He couldn't even scream, making a breathless choking sound instead. At first it didn't feel painful, just shocking, but by the time the intense scalding burn of it kicked in the next hit had already landed and his father's arm was raised for another. He cried out after the fourth, air finally returning to his lungs enough to scream, though each breath he took was choked and shallow.

It was hardly the first time he'd been whipped but his father had never gone quite this hard, he usually didn't hold back but this time it was like he was putting all the strength he could possibly muster into each strike of the belt. It was so overwhelming, the pain had come so quickly and was escalating at an alarming rate, the way it felt constantly changing as welts began overlaying each other then trippling up and just continuing to fucking build. It was stinging then burning then strangely numb and cutting and the bone deep aching was growing too. He only had so much skin on his ass and thighs and as far as he could tell each inch had gotten the attention of his dad's belt. Fuck, he was beginning to loose sensation in his ass. Well, that was misleading because the pain was more intense than ever but he couldn't tell where the belt was landing anymore, skin too busy being in agony to be pressure sensitive. He felt like he had been split in two with a large flaming hot knife.

Steve didn't bother trying to control his tears like he sometimes did, as some childish attempt at rebellion, he was already butt bare receiving a thrashing from his dad while his mom watched so he didn't think there was much point in trying to maintain dignity. Besides, he didn't think he could quieten his sobs if he tried, it just… fuck, it hurt! He was a person who could handle a shit-ton of pain, hell he got the shit beaten out of him and just got back up and left. He supposed that was a compliment to his father's strength, or maybe it was telling of just how much the man hated him. He had really fucked up this time, not that he'd been trying to fail school. He'd studied. Hard. He'd paid attention in every class, never bunked, never skipped a day unless his was too I'll to even get up. He'd tried so fucking hard and he'd still failed. He got the 'dedication' part down, he supposed, it was the 'intelligence' he was lacking. Maybe he did deserve this, because fuck if he didn't want to just beat the shit out of himself sometimes. Still, being in this situation… he wanted out.

Steve knew his skin must be a mess of purple and oozing bloody red by now, he was definitely swollen. He was crying so hard his chest hurt from lack of oxygen and his eyes ached, throat hoarse. He had made a mess on his mother's skirt, a slick patch of tears, spit, and snot formed that probably wouldn't clean out of the expensive fabric well. She'd probably want to give him a spanking of her own for that, which he did not want to think about right now. His father seemed to have grown tired of beating over already bloodied flesh since he was moving higher up onto his back and lower down to his calves. Steve kicked hard and tried to roll away but he barely managed to wiggle on the spot with how tightly he was being restrained.  
"D-D-Da… dd-dy… pl—Ow! Fuck!—l-lease… S-St-t-top… I c-can't… Fuck! M-Mom-m—Ah!—mmy… H-Help!" Steve gasped out messily, his own voice so broken he couldn't even recognise it.

A harsh hit right over the worst area was his response.  
"Don't 'Daddy stop' me, don't 'Mommy help' me," each word was punctuated with a blow "You got yourself into this mess, Steven. You deserve every. Single. Hit. This isn't to improve your behaviour or to teach you a lesson for the future, oh no don't be mistaken. I am done pouring my valuable time and money and resources into trying to salvage any single useless piece of shit from you. No, this is a punishment. It's to make you pay for what you've done, years and years of gross negligence to all the miniscule responsibilities layed out for you to do. You deserve every hit and more; more than I am even capable of physically giving you you stupid… worthless… piece. Of. Shit."  
Each of the final words were emphasised with particularly hard blows that had him screaming his throat raw. Steve was sure the words would hurt him later but right now he couldn't process much more than the pain that seemed to be consuming him. He had lost the will to even speak aloud, left mouthing the words 'please Daddy' over and over again as drool leaked shamelessly from his lips.

His brief attempt at begging had seemed to push his father even further into his rage as he seemed to grow impatient even with his own belt, throwing it across the room with a soft thump and beginning to punch Steve hard wherever he could reach. His over-the-knee actually helped in this situation, but only mildly. His father couldn't reach the delicate unprotected organs on his front or his ribs, but his back and sides were paying for that. Steve screamed louder at this now tactic, cursing that they lived so far from the other houses. Surely, if they'd had neighbours they would have come to help him by now. Then again, spanking your son was hardly a crime so maybe even then he'd be doomed to this. Steve gasped in shock and pain when his head was roughly yanked back by his hair, feeling a few strands tear loose. Unprotected now, his eyes stung with the bright light, though he couldn't see anything through his tear-blurred eyes.

Now he'd gotten his father talking, he didn't seem to want to stop.  
"Maybe if you paid less attention to your fucking looks and your fucking hair and put some of that time and care into working you would have actually amounted to something, instead of being this worthless, stupid as shit degenerate. Maybe you wouldn't be an embarrassment of a son if you spent less of your nights and your days whoring yourself out to whatever sleaze at that shit hole school decides to give you even the slightest bit of attention, you desperate, needy bitch. Is that what you wanted, huh? To be a whore?" He'd stopped his punching, thank goodness, but the grip in Steve's hair was as rough as ever "Because you've done a pretty fucking good job at becoming one, all slutty looks and 'fuck me' eyes and throwing yourself into bed with everyone, I've heard what your teachers say about you, you fucking pervert. Bet you even fucked some of them, huh? Well you're clearly not skilled enough to get them to bump up your grades. A cheap whore then."

Steve was afraid, eyes wide with terror as his neck was tilted back at a painful angle by his hair. His dad may have stopped hitting him but the existing damage hurt like a bitch. Still, this pause in his punishment wasn't something he was used to and it had his anxiety through the roof. He wasn't foolish enough to think that his punishment was over, but there was nothing he could do other than wait, at the mercy of his father. Steve whimpered in pain when his father's hand began to rub and roughly squeeze his injured arse, making the pain spike higher than he even thought possible. If he was able to walk after this he'd limp himself all the fucking way to the nearest dealer cus he wouldn't be able to deal with this pain without being high.

While his parents never wasted time spanking him with their hand—that was far too mild—they did often get handsy afterwards to aggravate the injuries and humiliate him further. They knew he hated it when they did that, he wished he'd pretended to be fine with it that first time when he was five but he'd freaked out at being touched on his arse by his own parents so now it's become a favourite punishment. His dad began massaging his cheeks, forcing a grunt of pain from his lips.  
"Is this what you like, huh Steven?" His father's words trickled like honey "Is this what was so good it was worth skipping out on studying for? Do you just love your ass being played with like some downtown whore? Well, you fucking bitch, you're getting your ass played with now. Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Steve bit his lip so hard he tasted iron when his dad dug nails into his injured flesh. Surely the man would grow tired soon and just leave him be, right?

"You would rather be a fuckboy slut than spend time getting your grades up, would you?"  
Steve could feel his father roughly pull his cheeks apart, the air so cool against his exposed asshole. He felt so embarrassed and mortified and he was in so much pain he just wanted to fucking die right there on the spot. He didn't even want this to end anymore, he wanted to stop existing entirely because he was sure there was no way he could ever be rid of all the awful things he was feeling. Between his exhaustion and the pain moving caused, he didn't even try to get away as his father started rubbing his anus with intrusive, too-rough fingers.  
"If you want to be a whore then so be it, Steven. I'll stop trying to shape you into anything else. I've wasted enough of my precious fucking time on trying to make you something you're not. Maybe I should take back some of what I've wasted on you. It's hard making business deals, you know. Hard to butter up those tight-pocketed fat cats. Your mother helps, sometimes, but she's hardly a whore, she's too intelligent. 

"Luckily for me, I know someone who is beautiful and slutty and has absolutely nothing in their head."  
Steve was petrified. He definitely did not like where this was going. The implications of his father's words were so horrifying that they managed to cut through his pain and reach his brain. Was his dad seriously going to use him as a sex slave for businessmen? Nothing more than a bargaining chip in a negotiation? Could he even do that? Judging from the fact that Steve was trapped while his ass was fondled, yes his dad could do that. Would he even get a chance to run away? He really wished he'd never walked through that door. Steve cried out in horrified pain and surprise as his father roughly pushed two fingers into his anus, the sudden thick fingered intrusion making his abused ass burn from the inside now too. It was far too fast and he could feel the man's nails scraping against his delicate skin inside. His father had done this as punishment once or twice before but with the implications of what he'd been saying at the top of his mind, this was a whole new level of distressing than it already was and that was saying something.

"Mom!" He cried out, finding his voice in desperation "Mom help me! Please! Please…" he began crying again, though his eyes were raw and achy with overuse.  
"Don't call to your mother like she's going to help you," his father hissed "She wants you punished just as much as I do, maybe even more so. Do you know how much giving birth to you affected her figure? Took her months to get back to her normal size and shape." He said accusingly, swirling the fingers and around and pumping them. As violated as he felt, Steve was at least relieved it was just his fingers. Sometimes he received a figging, once when he'd gotten in trouble with the police his father had even skinned a chili and rubbed it over his asshole. That was probably one of the worst punishments he'd ever received. Still, even though it was less painful, there was something far more disturbing about feeling something painful move inside him and knowing that it was his dad.

"Well, you've been a parasite on me and your mother for too long. You're finally going to give something back. You're going to make every penny that we've wasted on you back by being the whore you so clearly long to be and then you're going to make more. You'd better fucking not be as shitty at that as you are at everything else." His father continued, still exploring his insides with deliberate roughness and carelessness, Steve wouldn't be surprised if he'd gotten internal tears. "And don't you think for a second that you're getting a single penny more, don't even dream that you're inheriting any of this from me. I'm disowning you, good and proper. You won't be my son anymore you'll just be a tool that I keep locked up in the cupboard at work until it is useful like all the rest of the tools I own."

"What?"  
Steve's mind was so distressed, well and truly in the grips of a panic attack, that it took him a while to realise his mother had spoken for the first time since this had begun. The fingers inside him stilled but with the anger radiating off of his father, he didn't like the idea of them being inside him at all.  
"Yes, as we discussed, my dear." His father said cooly, in a non-negotiable tone.  
His mother stood angrily "No. We did not discuss it. You stated it and I told you not to and that was the end!"  
"Exactly," his father replied sternly "We discussed it."  
"You can't do that, you can't disown him. We decided that he should repay his debts to us through selling his body but we can't disown him entirely." His mother argued firmly.  
Steve was taken aback. He hadn't known she'd cared.

His father stood abruptly, pulling his fingers out with a speed that had Steve howling in pain as he tumbled to the floor, finally free.  
"Don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do, woman." His father seethed "And just you watch me."  
He said, turning sharply on his heel to storm out the room towards his office, apparently to disown him. Steve should probably be focusing on that, or even the excruciating pain he was in, but instead he was fixated with the fact that his father was so angry. At his mother. That… never happened. Was this what they'd been fighting about earlier? His father was more angry than he'd ever seen him, even more so than back when he'd first grabbed his arm and shook him that evening. His mother, though… she looked positively deadly.

"No." She hissed, standing firmly in the way of the door "I won't let you disown my son. He may be stupid and unskilled and worthless but he is mine. I know what you're doing, I know what you're planning. It's that bitch in marketing you knocked up, isn't it? You're planning on raising the child? Well fuck you, if you think I'm letting some other bastard child take my boy's money and some skank replace me then you've got another thing coming. I was fine with you having your mistresses but I'd sooner die than see her skanky hands over what's mine."  
Steve was mesmerised as he watched, he vaguely registered that he was free and could probably limp his way to the door and run but he couldn't tear his eyes away. This was… insane. He'd never seen anything like it.

His father tried to force his way past but she wouldn't budge. He all but hissed at her, glaring with such force that Steve felt scared and for once it wasn't directed at him.  
"Move. I am losing my patience." He sneered.  
"No. I am not losing my life, the life I've worked tirelessly for." She threw right back.  
There was a moment's silence before his father grabbed her roughly by the arms, trying to manhandle her away so he could get past. He managed after a few moments but could only take a couple steps before she'd jumped on him, pulling him back.  
"No! I won't let you! You bastard, I won't let you!" She cried with rage Steve had never thought she had in her.  
Visibly snapping, his father punched her hard in the face, sending his mom crashing into the kitchen counter, nose bloody and dripping onto the pristine surface.

Steve's numb nice briefly mused that he should probably get up, should probably run to the phone and call the police or something. This was getting out of control and he was terrified. But his legs were numb, and so was his head, so he just lay there on his stomach in the exact position he'd fell and watched with wide eyes. He couldn't quite follow what was happening, he could barely see from his angle and even if he had been able to, he was so exhausted he could barely make sense of anything. One moment his mother was sprawled over the kitchen counter, limp and clearly hurt, his father striding angrily away to do whatever legal shit he was about to do. Then… he wasn't quite sure. His mother had gotten up and lunged at his father. She wasn't strong enough to overpower him, he was a big man, and yet… he froze. His body went rigid before falling to the ground, though he pulled her down too and she fell like a ragdoll.

Red was pouring from his father's lips and he didn't know why. Had his mom punched him in the face? She had looked like she hit his stomach, not his face… she couldn't have hit so hard it caused him to bleed from the mouth, could she? She was a relatively small woman. And his father had started to punch her now, so hard it made Steve feel that he might have been going easy on him earlier.  
"You psycho bitch! What the fuck have you done! What the fuck have you done to me!" He was screaming, voice near hysterical as he laid on blow after blow, though his movements were growing slower.  
"I-I had to I—!"  
That was al Steve had managed to catch from his mother, if there had been anything else it had been cut of by the beating. But she had grown still under his punches and his punches were going sloppy before he slumped to the side and went still too. From his newly fallen position, Steve saw silver glinting in the light, jutting out of his stomach as the red grew across the carpet around both of them.

He didn't… he was so tired. He was so hurt. He didn't understand. He didn't understand! He was so scared but he couldn't reach the phone, why weren't the police coming? He didn't understand…  
.  
.  
.  
It was ten minutes later that whatever fog that had gripped him began to split. Steve screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think in the comments! I know that was damn dark but tbh this is the darkest chapter, there will be more angst but this is probably the heaviest. I have sooooo much planned for this and will add tags as I go. I'm really excited for this story, I hope you are too!


	2. Hang Onto Your Hopes, My Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Aftermath angst with some comfort. I intended for a lot more to happen but I got carried away. I swear, this will be Billy x Steve soon!
> 
> I'm trying to post once a week, always a couple days after my other fic 'You Know That I'm No Good' gets posted.

Hopper loved his job, really he did. It wasn't for everyone, he knew, but while when he was young and foolish it was the authority and heroics that attracted him now, as a bitter old man, it was the macabre and morbid cynicism that made his job such a perfect fit for him. He'd been disillusioned from the American dream in the most awful, personal way. Having everything snatched away from him, his wife, his house… his child, it showed him that life was a cruel thing and that the world was laced with darkness. But after being shown something like that, he couldn't keep up the act like everyone else did. He couldn't go around in a suit and tie, baking cookies for the neighbors, shouting at kids for getting on his lawn. He didn't enjoy the fact that life sucked but he knew that it was, indeed, a fact. And if life sucked balls he wanted to be able to see it, he wanted to pull the curtain back and know the truth because knowing what lay behind that curtain and not looking would drive him crazy. There was also the sense that since he was so tainted, he'd save someone else the job. If he could make sure that even a single person didn't have to have their life torn apart like he has then he could die happy.

That being said, working as a police officer could be rough to say the least, especially in a town like Hawkins. Surprisingly, it wasn't even the plethora of assorted demons, monsters, and scientific psychopaths that he was thinking of. No, it was the fact that Hawkins was so small. He knew people here. Almost every single case he worked was both made a million times easier and harder by that fact. It was easier to solve crimes when you knew your victim, the suspects, the witnesses, the area, but it also made it far more personal. It hit home when he could remember when the teenager that just ODed used to go to kindergarten. How was he supposed to blame Ms Kenneth for stealing food for her toddler when he knew she lost everything in a divorce that wasn't her fault? Then there was Benny, 'shot himself through the skull', or more specifically got murdered by government scientists.

Jim supposed knowing everyone, though it hurt more, did make him a better cop. He liked to think that he'd have done all he did if it wasn't Will Byers who'd gone missing, wasn't Joyce Byers crying in his office for her son. He liked to think he would have but he couldn't deny that seeing his highschool crush and the woman he'd grown to admire so desperate and hurting had helped fire him up to do what he had to. Still, he silently prayed to a god he'd long since given up on believing in that whenever the station got a call it'd be a voice that wasn't too familiar, too dear. Life had been easier before, only a few years before, when he'd had no one but a line of one night stands he couldn't remember the names of half the time, it was just him and his own misery and that suited him fine. Then Joyce and her two sweet boys came along. Then Eleven—Jane—his own daughter. Then those three kids who went further than he'd ever imagined some middle schoolers could to ensure their best friend came home. Then Byers brought along Nancy and the pair gave his department a run for their money with their detective skills.

Then Steve turned up, being a better parent to those kids than most parents in Hawkins, and though he didn't have any apparent ties to the situation he didn't back down and fought along with them bravely. Somewhere along the line they'd acquired a ginger child who slotted in with the rest like she belonged there. Even that damned idiot Murrey he cared about, though he'd never admit it. Point was, he cared. He really fucking cared, he always did. That was probably why his life had so easily spiraled out of control in the first place because if he hadn't cared then he would never have hurt so bad. But nothing changed the fact that he did indeed care about this special band of misfits, he supposed life and death situations really did bring you closer together. He was secretly in love with Joyce, though he would probably bring that to the grave. He felt all paternal with each of the kids—and yes that counted Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve because they were still fucking babies where he was concerned—even that asshole Mike. And El… well, he was pretty sure El was his heart, his entire heart. Point was, every time there was a crime called in he felt horror course through his veins at the mere idea that it might be one of the people he cared about hurt.

And usually, mercifully, it was fine. But then there were times like this.  
"Hello?" Hopped answered the phone, somewhat gruffly.  
He and El had been settled down for the evening, ready to watch some shitty TV before he put her to bed. That was before the phone so rudely interrupted. Really, if this was telemarketers he was going to fucking riot. When there was no immediate response, Hopper felt dread begin to creep up his spine, that instinct he'd developed after years of being a cop settling like lead in his stomach. Something was wrong. He heard heavy breathing on the other side of the line, blending together with the crackling of the poor quality connection. It sounded almost… like crying?  
"This is Chief Jim Hopper, please state the problem." He answered, shifting gear to police mode.  
Never mind that this was his own personal number which only his close friends and family knew, he didn't want to think about what the implications of that were. There was nothing but the scratchy sound of static and heavy, sobbed breathing. Jim was really beginning to get freaked out when finally there was a response.

"H-Hop… p-per?" Came a voice so shaky and broken that he could barely decipher it from the uneven breathing and sobbing.  
But it was just clear enough for Jim to hear and it made his blood run cold and panic grip him. He knew that voice. Damn it, he knew that voice!  
"Steve?" He cried out, police instincts struggling with his genuine panic and worry "Steve Harrington, is that you?"  
There was no response again, just the shaky, heavy breathing and clear sound of pitiful, desperate crying.  
"Kid, listen, it's going to be alright, okay?" Jim tried to force as much calm and authority into his voice as he could "Whatever it is, I promise you I will help you deal with this, I am a cop and I am your friend. Whatever is wrong I know it's bad but it'll be less bad if you tell me what's wrong so I can help, okay?"  
He fell silent to give the kid an opportunity to answer, to say something, anything, but all he could hear over the line was that awful crying sound and eery breathing.

Shit this was really freaking him out. That kid had nerves of steel, Jim had always admired him for it. He was dragged into the insane world of monsters and alternate dimensions and evil government conspiracies and he didn't even bat an eye. Jim was certain the kid was compartmentalising and repressing his emotions but that didn't change the fact that he was damn brave. So if something had gotten him so upset that he couldn't even stop crying long enough to speak over the phone then it must be really, really bad. As much as there was less major crime in Hawkins, he'd been a big city cop once and as disarming as it was for the victim to be someone he knew, he did know what to do if the caller was unable to answer over the phone. First step was check their house, if you knew where it was.  
"Alright. It's going to be alright, okay Steve? Are you at your house?" Jim paused for a response but, as he expected, there wasn't one "Okay. It's okay. I'm going to drive over to your house really quickly and if you're there I'll be able to help. If you're not, it's alright, I'll keep looking till I find you then I'll help you. Just hang in there, kid. It's going to be alright, you're going to be alright."  
Unless you suspected a hostile force was listening, it was important to be transparent with what you were going to do and to give the victim some little bit of hope they could grasp on as a coping mechanism. Now, hopefully, Steve felt a little calmer that he wasn't alone and that, wherever he was, Hopper would be coming to help soon.

Without Steve answering, there wasn't any more use the phone call could bring him. Jim was always apprehensive, hanging up a call with a vic, since contact was so important, especially when you didn't know where they were. Still, this could be time sensitive so he had to run.  
Calming his tone, Hopper spoke again "Alright, Steve, I'm going to hang up now—"  
That got a response.  
"Help me! P-Please… I don't… I d-don't… S-Someth-thing's hap-ppenned… b-bad… I-I d-don't… I-I c-can't… H-Help-p m-me. H-Help m-me! Please… P-Please… p-pl-lease… P-Please…"  
Jim sighed heavily, running a hand over his face in a pained gesture. That didn't help do anything but make whatever was left of his calm fly out the window. And how the hell was he supposed to hang up the phone with a child who was clearly out of their mind with panic crying and begging on the other end of the line? At least this established Steve was somewhat able to speak, that ruled out the most serious injuries.

"I know, kid, I know. I know you must be so scared right now, and probably in pain. I know you're freaking out and you don't know what to do but that's okay. You've done amazingly. You've called me and that's exactly what you were supposed to do in this situation so good job. Now all you've gotta do is just hang in there for a little bit, I'll be driving over as fast as I can and I'll be with you in no time. Then you won't be alone. So… I am going to hang up now but I will be there with you very, very soon."  
Hopper paused to see if Steve had any response, but he just kept sobbing the word 'please' like he hadn't heard a thing he said. Jim let out another pained sigh, physically wincing as he placed the phone on the receiver, this hanging up. He turned abruptly, ready to hastily rush around grabbing his keys, gun, and radio when he was stopped short by the wide eyed figure in the doorway.  
"Kid." He breathed, feeling as if the wind was knocked out of him by that scared, doe eyes look.  
He'd entirely forgotten Eleven's presence in his desperation to reach Steve.

"Steve is hurt?" She asked in her direct way, voice soft and full of concern.  
Hopper ran a hand over his face before giving a small nod "Yeah, kid. I think so. I know we were gonna watch TV together but I… I've gotta do this."  
"I know." El answered as if any alternative never crossed her mind.  
An idea formed in Jim's mind, which made him sick really because he hated using his daughter's powers for his own benefit but in this case he had to since another kid's life could be on the line.  
"Look, Jane, do you think you'd be able to quickly check in on Steve? Like, tell me where he is, if he's hurt?" He asked, hating every word he said.  
She gave a small, determined nod and rushed off without a second's hesitation, grabbing a cloth which she wrapped around her eyes and messing with the TV till it ran static. 

Hopper knew the girl loved Steve, he came to babysit a lot when he was busy with work, which Jim was so grateful for because he hated leaving El alone, but the teen was also a friend to all of them. Still, he knew Eleven would be just as eager to help anyone if she could and the idea of Hopper not asking her probably hadn't even occurred to her. Jim took the moment to go grab his coat, keys and whatever else he needed so he'd be ready to run out the door the second this was over. He couldn't help but wince as he saw bright red blood trickle down to her lip from her nose but the girl didn't so much as flinch. The silence was tense, charged with anxiety and eagerness to get up and do something.  
"I see him!" She cried finally.  
Jim's breath caught, his hands wringing together as he listened carefully.  
"He's… at his house." El continued, clearly concentrating hard "On… on the floor, holding a phone. Crying." She sounded disturbed by that.

So he was at his house, Jim noted with relief. That made it at least partially easier.  
"Hurt." El said in a pained voice "Bleeding. He's… scared."  
"Can you see anyone else?" Jim asked, on the edge of his seat with anxiety.  
El shook her head, frown evident even from under her blindfold "I can't see… there's more blood! Not coming from Steve. Somebody else? I can't see…" she gasped before pulling the blindfold off, looking sadly up at him "I lost him." She said in a sad, disappointed voice.  
Jim shook his head and pulled Eleven into a hug "Hey, it's alright, kid. You did… you did amazingly. Really, you helped me and Steve so much, thank you. Now I know where he is and to call an ambulance, I'll do that now."

Jim bolted up and returned to the phone, quickly dialing the emergency number "This is Chief Jim Hopper requiring an ambulance, we have an unknown emergency at the Harrington manor. There is one known injured victim, suspected more, and definitely blood. That is all we know, I'll be driving there now."  
With that, Jim hung up and ran towards the door.  
"El, I've got to go." He called over his shoulder "Don't worry, Steve will be alright now. I'll call you from his house or the hospital, okay? Call Joyce to come pick you up, alright? That's not a suggestion, I am telling you to do that. I'll call you from the Byers home phone when I can."  
With that Jim ran out to his car, jumping in with one fluid motion and turning on the sirens. Steve was hurt and scared and he still didn't know what happened, he needed to be as fast as he could. He pedalled the gas and drove.  
******  
Steve clung to the phone desperately, the wire stretched and twisted to accommodate for his position half curled up against the wall, half strewn across the floor. He hurt everywhere, it'd taken everything he had in him to pull himself across the floor and reach up for the phone. Even that, he'd done too late, he was sure. He didn't know how long he'd spent, frozen to the spot he'd fallen, screaming as he stared at his parent's broken bodies, unable to look away. Thankfully, he'd finally been able to look away but the image was burnt into the backs of his eyelids, every time he closed his eyes he could see it. He was more acutely aware of that single snapshot than what he was actually seeing. Now he had his back to them, facing the blank wall instead of what he knew lay behind him. This brought him no relief, though. His muscles were so tense he felt they might snap as his body desperately willed itself not to look around. He couldn't look. He couldn't look! He knew what was there and he just couldn't see it again. He wouldn't be able to comprehend it even if he did. This couldn't be happening. This really just could not be happening.

He was lying awkwardly balanced on his side and the wall, his thighs and ass too painful to even consider sitting on. He didn't think much of the ever present, throbbing pain though. How could he when his parents were…? No. It wasn't true. Everything would be fine. When he'd finally had enough adrenaline coursing through his veins to snap out of his hazy fog, Steve had known he needed to call someone. He did not know how to deal with this in the slightest. Monsters were easier than this, in that situation there was one clear bad guy and you just hit it with a bat till you either won or died trying. This was… Steve screwed his eyes shut and let his head fall to the side, hitting the plaster with a dull thud.  
"Please… please… please… please…" he continued to gasp into the phone, though a small part of him knew Hopper had hung up. He couldn't process that. He was too busy clinging to the phone with both hands, knuckles white, fingertips numb. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as he continued to gasp out those words like they would help, he didn't think he could stop repeating that word if he tried. They just tumbled out from his lips till they lost meaning and his lips felt numb.

Hopper would come. Hopper said he would come. He said it'd be alright, that he wasn't alone and that he'd make it better. That Steve had done good and all he needed was to hang on. He was hanging on. He was trying so hard to hang on. He couldn't hang on!  
*******  
Jim didn't even bother knocking. If there was someone else in the house then they were either unconscious, too injured to do anything, or the reason Steve was in pain. If there was no one who would comfort the crying teen then there was no one who would open the door. With that reasoning, Jim kicked it down. It took two tries but sure enough the lock broke away from the door with splinters of wood, falling to the floor with a metallic clang as he wasted no time in rushing through the door, gun raised. He didn't know what to expect but there was a good chance that someone had attacked Harrington which meant he needed his fucking gun ready. Jim looked around, gun raised in front of him as he cautiously took in the room. There was no one in the opening way but as he looked beyond, where a generously sized living room met the kitchen, he saw something.

The first thing to catch his eye damn near broke Jim's heart. There was Steve Harrington, all but collapsed against the wall as if he hadn't the strength left in his body to keep himself upright. He was still clinging to the phone with a grip so tight Jim's own hands ached in empathy, in the silence of the room he could hear the heartbreaking mantra of 'please' still being sobbed out into the phone. Jim would bet a decent amount that the kid didn't even realise he was here. His eyes quickly swept the boy's body and, while there was a small pool of blood collected around him, disturbing smudges and drag marked across the floor to mark where he must have travelled, he didn't appear fatally wounded. His face had an angry red bruise forming, clearly in the shape of a hand mark. Sickeningly, he could make out each finger. This definitely wasn't some accident, then. Someone had hurt the kid on purpose.

His eyes travelled further to look for the source of the blood, noting in surprise that the kid was seemingly wearing nothing on his lower half. That observation was quickly followed by him finding the source of the bleeding. The boy's generally pale skin was marred with a whole mess of welts and cuts and bruises, so much so that his whole bottom and thighs were covered, there were even a few down on his calves. They disappeared up into where his shirt was covering which Jim took to mean there were more on his back. Steve was probably too out of it to be embarrassed by his situation and Jim had been on the force too long to be so childish, still the kid's shirt hung low enough to preserve most of his modesty. Jim knew corporal punishment was a common thing, from parents to schools to lovers. He did not agree with it in the slightest, the idea of purposefully causing Jane physical harm made him sick. He was a parent, he was supposed to stop his child from being hurt, not be the cause of it.

That being said, this was not corporal punishment, this was abuse. Rape, maybe? Steve was an attractive and rich boy, it wasn't unimaginable that his house might be broken into. Or domestic abuse? Jim couldn't pretend to know his parents well but that was probably as telling as anything, they clearly weren't the greatest if they weren't fussing over Steve and questioning Hopper about where their son went any why he's having nightmares about monsters. Those were the two most likely explanations, and both were definitely cause enough to send a strong kid like Steve into hysterics. His eyes slammed further across the house for more information and he gasped in shocked horror. Well, now Jim knew what El meant by blood coming from somewhere else. Lying in a tangled heap together in a very large pool of blood were a man and woman.

Steve's parents. He'd never met them but he could tell straight away. Steve looked shockingly like his mother, she had the same hair and lips and bone structure. Probably her eyes too, he'd guess, though they were closed. She would probably be a stunningly beautiful woman had she not been grey and unnaturally still, covered in bruises and blood. Though Steve clearly took more after his mother, there was something of him in his father's jawline and strong eyebrows, even a little of his nose. He, too, was covered in blood. The blood appeared to be his, though there was blood stuck to the woman's lips, dried and peeling where it must've been flowing down her chin. The main source of the blood was a knife that was jutting out from the man's stomach, it looked like a regular kitchen knife. Well, they were near the kitchen. A crime of passion, then. The murder weapons in such cases were usually whatever was on hand.

As much as Jim hated to leave Steve till last, he had to check the two figures first since they were both grievously injured. No pulse. On either of them. They were cold, too. Dead, very dead, probably had been for some time now. He looked back over to Steve, wondering how long the kid had been alone with this before he'd been able to make that call. Jim took a step back, running a hand through his hair as he let out a shuddered breath. An image was painting itself in his head now and, while clarity should be comforting, it made him feel sick. Steve came home from school today, probably late since he had a habit of spending time with the kids and dropping them off. He vaguely noted school was out now for the year, but that detail didn't seem important. He got home, his parents were fighting with each other. His father must have a temper, his eyes scanned over to the couch where a heavy looking leather belt was discarded on the floor, as well as a pile of clothes. That was where the blood trail started from that led to Steve. Sure enough, at a glance at the body he saw Mr Harrinton's belt loop was empty.

The man must have been angry, found some reason to take it out on the kid. The reason didn't matter, it was never the kid's fault in these situations. Then Steve was dragged over to the sofa, his trousers and underwear taken off, and got beaten way too hard to even argue it was excusable or even legal. He was dropped on the floor where the blood trail stairs, by the sofa. Then… what? Somehow the mother and father got into a fight which had ultimately resulted in their deaths. Maybe the mother had come downstairs, found her husband beating her son half to death and freaked out, tried to drag him away? Then, he'd retaliated by punching and beating her till she was black and blue. This must have happened over near the kitchen where the bodies are. Then the mother, angry at her husband for hurting both her and her son, grabs a knife that's in her reach and stabs him. He falls to the ground, still beating her as he dies. She dies from the injuries.

Jim wasn't sure if that was exactly what happened but he was confident about the first part. How the couple had started to fight so fervently that it'd ended in them killing each other, he didn't know. He did know that it was the father who'd hurt Steve so badly, the mother who'd stabbed him, and the father who'd beaten her badly enough to kill her. He also knew that Steve must have witnessed the whole thing. Between the abuse and the trauma of seeing his parents die at each other's hands, there was no wonder he sounded so broken over the phone. Jim decided to disregard the bodies now. There wasn't anything he could do for them and he had the entirely unprofessional thought that they probably deserved it for scarring their son so badly.

Children were his sore spot, Jim's first born child had died a drawn out and painful death despite how desperately he'd tried to save her. He did not tolerate parents who hurt their children. He didn't allow them to make shitty excuses, like a person saying they 'didn't know' their spouse was beating their child, or parents who neglected them or verbally hurt them or pretended not to notice when they were clearly sad and in pain. He would have done anything to save his child the pain she went through so the idea that parents so carelessly hurt their children in any way made his blood boil. Sure, if there had been pulses on those bodies he would have tried to save them because that was his job. But did he think all parents who abused their children deserved to die in a pool of their own blood? Fuck yeah he did. Still, even with their dying they had hurt Steve. Probably more than anything else they'd ever done. Jim gladly disregarded the dead parents and ran to the broken teen's side to turn all his attention to him.

Hopper walked over to where Steve was still huddled against the wall, the poor kid's whole body was shaking like a leaf. He bit his lip before quickly looking around the room to see if there was anything he could use to wrap around the kid to help get his body temperature back up and hopefully ground him. He found a pile of blankets beside the sofa, vaguely remembering seeing them before when dropping Jane off for a sleepover. That thought made Hopper's blood boil even more, Steve was a good kid. A kind kid. He didn't deserve this, not any single bit of it. Blanket in hand, he lowered himself down onto his knees so he was at eye level with the traumatised teen. Up close he looked even worse. His usually immaculate hair was in a state of disarray, his eyelashes were glued together with tears and his eyes were red and raw. The hand shaped mark looked even more painful upon closer inspection and the only thing that was keeping Jim sane was the idea that an ambulance was on its way right now. He had some training, it was part of the job, but it was reassuring to know that some properly trained professionals would be taking care of Steve's health soon enough. He just had to make sure the kid was as alright as he could be given the situation, as a police chief and a friend.

"Hey, kid." Jim said in a low, calm voice "I'm here now. It's me, Jim Hopper. I told you I would be."  
When Steve didn't respond, Jim began to grow anxious again. He knew that unresponsiveness was linked to traumatic experiences but maybe the kid had hit his head, or been hit in his head by his asshole father. Jim reached out cautiously to check over his head for blood or lumps but the moment his finger grazed the kid's skin, Steve was gasping and clambering away. He didn't get far, though, crying out in pain as he landed on his injured skin, eyes wide and afraid as they flitted, slightly manically, over Jim's own.  
"H-Hop?" He gasped out, hands shaking curled over nothing, the phone had fallen in his panicked attempt to run.  
Jim forced a smile onto his lips, though it went against every terrible emotion he was feeling.  
"That's right, kid—Steve." He assured "It's Hopper. I've got you now, okay? I'm here. It's going to be alright."

He reached out again, Steve had not moved from his new position, even though it meant most of his weight was pressed onto the most severely injured area. When Steve didn't flinch away this time, Hopper pulled the blanket tightly around him before lifting him up, easily carrying him into his arms where he sat. The kid was way too light. There was just so fucking much wrong with this whole situation. Still, the least he could do was carry the kid so he wasn't putting weight on what looked like some very painful injuries. And if the kid instantly curled up into his arms like he'd been desperate for the slightest bit of comfort, he didn't say anything, just held on tighter, pulling Steve closer to his chest.  
"That's it, kid. Just try to relax, alright?" Jim comforted "Try to stay as calm as you can. I know you're hurting right now but an ambulance is coming and they'll take care of you. They know what they're doing so you don't have to worry about a thing, they can help take your pain away."  
He pointedly didn't mention the two dead bodies only meters away. He did not think the kid would appreciate him bringing that up, and he definitely didn't have any comforting words on that front. What was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for your loss but, hey, at least you don't have shitty parents anymore? The fate of the poor kid was looking really murky. But damn if he wouldn't do whatever he could to make it better.

"H-Hop!"  
Jim was startled by the kid suddenly gripping his shirt roughly, eyes wild as he stared up at him. He tries holding the kid closer and gently rubbing his back to help calm him down but it didn't seem to have any effect.  
"H-Hop-pper… s-someth-thing b-bad… I d-don't…" he was crying again, face red and slick with tears "I d-d-don't…"  
Hopper cursed mentally as Steve's muscles tensed up and his cries hardened, snapping the kid out of whatever blackout state he'd been in had clearly brought back the horrific events in full force.  
"S-Shit… I d-don't… i-it c-can't… i-it c-can't be r-real! P-Please, Hop-p, t-tell me… t-tell me 's not r-real." Steve was gasping out words between his sobs, desperate eyes fixing Hopper with a gaze that cut worse than a knife.  
Whatever he saw in Jim's eyes seemed to answer his question, though, because he could see the moment the kid's face crumbled, any light that'd been left in his eyes disappearing, replaced by grief and horror. He cried harder, sobs stealing whatever petty breaths he might've been able to pull into his lungs.

"Shit," Jim cursed, panicking himself now "Kid? Kid, you've… you've got to calm down, alright? You're gonna hurt yourself like this."  
Predictably, Steve didn't listen, maybe he didn't even hear. His whole body was shaking violently in Jim's arms, he couldn't distinguish what was the kid thrashing and what was his body shaking in shock.  
"C'mon, kid, you've gotta work with me here." Jim gently tapped the uninjured side of the teen's face "Steve? Steve? Please… I know you can hear me, kid, just… breath in time with me, okay? In 2 3 4, out 2 3 4. Come on, Steve. In 2 3 4, out 2 3 4. I know this situation is crazy but it's out of your control. There is one thing you can control, though, and that's your breathing. So try to breath in time with me, alright? In 2 3 4, out 2 3 4. You're so strong, Steve. One of the strongest kids I have ever met. You can do this, you can fight this. Those kids need you. They idolise you. Come on." He continued to coach the kid's breathing and, somewhere along the way, Steve began to follow. Jim could tell it was hard but his breathing seemed to slowly be evening out. His face was still flushed but it'd lost the alarming redness. His eyes weren't rolling back anymore and Steve was now looking vaguely up at him, clearly exhausted but now aware of his surroundings.

To his relief, Jim saw blue flashing from outside and the telltale siren of an ambulance growing closer. More than one, actually, from the sounds of it. Jim was not a particularly emotional man but he could have wept with relief in that moment. He couldn't have been there for more than twenty minutes but it felt like an eternity. Jim had finally gotten Steve into a state where—while he was clearly not fine—he wasn't in any danger of getting any worse. He saw the kid's head roll tiredly to the side, eyes straining to look out the window with a small frown.  
Jim smiled gently "That's right, kid. The ambulance is here. It'll be alright, they know what they're doing. They'll help make your pain go away, give you some medicine so you'll feel all better."  
Jim turned to see some uniformed medics walking through the door he'd broken open, a stretched wheeled in behind them. Suddenly, all the relief he had drained away. Jim didn't know why, it was just… he and the kid had been waiting, putting all their hope on the ambulance arriving as if that'd solve everything. Now it was here he had to confront the fact that any relief this would bring the kid would be very short lived and small in the grand scale of all that'd occured.  
*******  
Steve flinched as his oversensitive eyes were burnt by flashing lights. He curled closer to Hopper, uncomprehending and afraid. The back of his mind niggled annoyingly like he was supposed to know what those lights meant, but he was so tired the mere thought of straining his mind was painful. There was already too much pain. All his skin felt alight with it. Every breath he managed to draw into his lungs was agony, even his eyes hurt terribly. The pain was almost all he could think about, if it could even be called thinking. There were voices and… and people! New people. He didn't like that. Hopper was safe. He was safe with Hopper! He whimpered softly in fear, twisting around in the man's arms so he could bury himself more firmly against his chest. He didn't want to be hurt anymore, he already hurt too much! He wanted Hopper to tell them that. He didn't want to be hurt anymore.

Steve cried out in alarm, the sound hurting his raw throat, as he felt hands on him. He thrashed desperately, trying to get away. He wouldn't go out without a fight! He knew how to defend himself, he was used to it! So what if he often failed, he always tried.  
"-alm down. It's alright, I won't h—this isn't going to work."  
"It's alright, I've got him. I'll get him onto the stretcher."  
Steve could hear just fine but the words floated meaninglessly through him and he didn't even think to try deciphering them. But the hands on him stopped and it was just him and Hopper again so he was happy. He was just about settled again when suddenly, he felt himself being lifted up. Steve gasped in alarm, gripping onto the man's shirt.  
"It's okay, kid. Still me. I'm still holding you, I'm just standing up now, alright?" Jim's calm, authoritive voice reached him just enough to make him calm down.

But then he was being placed down on something hard and cold and he didn't like that at all. He didn't know where he was, or what it was. He was… he was scared. He was really scared. There were unfamiliar hands on him again and he tried as hard as he could to get away but they wouldn't stop no matter what he did. He was too weak to fight back.  
"–amn it, alright! Just… be careful, he's terrified."  
"His wellbeing is our job, right now, whatever we do is in his best interest."  
"I get that, just… just… damn it! Damn it!"  
The words faded into the background as Steve grew more panicked. His vision was blurry but he could see figures looming above him. He felt more hands on him, firmer this time, and a sharp sting in his neck. Then… nothing.  
*******  
El watched as the light of her dad's car disappear off into the thick of the forest trees, leaning against the window, hands pressed against the glass as if that would somehow help the situation. As much as she believed Hop when he told her she'd helped, she was certain she could have done more. Maybe if she'd tried harder she would have been able to see who it was bleeding beside Steve, or even see who had hurt them. She was familiar with bad men, she knew very well the types of darkness that the world possessed. Who cares if she got a headache from straining herself? Some piece of information she could discover might just save Steve's life and that was far more important than her comfort. She pressed her lips together before ripping herself away from the glass, throwing herself down onto the sofa with a frustrated huff. There wouldn't even be any point checking again since her dad was already gone. She wished now that he had taken her, if there were lots of dangerous bad men then she would be able to help stop them. Her powers could do far more than any average person could.

El looked up at the phone as if it had betrayed her. She didn't want to call Joyce, though she loved the lady of course. It's just… calling her felt like giving up. She didn't want to wait on the side for someone else to help till everything was over. She didn't want a babysitter, she wanted to be useful! She could be useful! But still, Hop had told her he would call from the Byers' phone so if she wanted to hear that he was okay and what had happened then she would have to be at the Byers' house. That meant calling Joyce. El rushed over to the phone, mind set now. She pulled it off the line, quickly dialing, only needing to glance at the note her dad had given her once. She was making it her business to memorise everyone's numbers. El held the phone anxiously with both hands, the ringing feeling like it was stretching out for an eternity. She was still awake so hopefully at least someone at the Byers' house would be too.

Finally, someone answered.  
"Hello? This is Joyce Byers speaking." The familiar voice came over the line.  
"Joyce!" El called out in relief.  
"Oh," she sounded surprised "Hi, El. What can I do for you, sweetie? Is everything alright?"  
El hesitated. In her opinion, everything was not alright at all, but she didn't want to scare the kind woman. Maybe she'd tell her on the car journey over.  
"Hop said to call." She settled for "Had to work."  
"Oh… well, I'll drive right over, alright? You're welcome to stay here the night, we love having you here." Joyce responded, sounding disapproving but El could tell it wasn't directed at her.  
"Thank you." She said with a small smile.  
"Alright, sweetie, see you soon!" Joyce called peppily before hanging up.

El sighed, putting the phone back on the receiver before looking around the empty house, the silence suddenly overwhelming. She hated being alone, though it happened often. It made her think of bad things. She knew dad didn't like leaving her alone either, but she also knew he had a very important job which he was very good at. After all, he'd never have found her if he wasn't. She didn't mind him going off to work all the time, she was used to being alone and could keep herself amused. Sometimes she felt his absence, though, and it made her sad. Now wasn't one of those times, now she just felt restless. Steve was a friend, a good friend. And she knew he was injured, out there alone somewhere. Friends helped friends yet here she was standing there doing nothing. In frustration, she made a pillow fly across the room. It bounced off the wall to the floor unsatisfyingly.

El wiped her nose, cheeks hot. She hated this. Well, if she was going to use her powers she might as well check up on Steve. She knew Hop wouldn't approve but he wasn't here. El closed her eyes and sat on the floor, pulling back on the blindfold that had laid discarded on the floor. She pushed through, seeing nothing but darkness till finally she could make out a form. Steve. But it didn't look quite right… Oh. Upon closer inspection, El could see that Steve was indeed there, but so was Hopper. He was holding the boy who was gripping back like his life depended on it. El couldn't quite hear what, if anything, they were saying but she didn't try that hard. It was alright now. If Hopper was with Steve then her friend would be alright. Still, she hated seeing him in pain. She hated seeing any of her friends in pain! They were such wonderful people and she just wished there was something she could do to make it stop. What was the point of having all these stupid abilities if she wasn't even able to save her friends from getting hurt?

El gasped in shock, blackness draining from her vision like mist as the sharp sound of someone knocking on the door cut through her visions. She fumbled to pull off her blindfold, dabbing at her nose to get rid of any blood. She knew all the adults got strange about her using her abilities. She didn't know why, sure her nose bled but that didn't even hurt. When she asked him, Mike said that lots of people got nose bleeds all the time, especially children. She didn't want to get into that verbal argument though because she knew from experience that however right she was, adults always won because they were adults. She quickly scrambled up onto her feet, not wanting Joyce to get worried that she was taking too long. El pulled the bolt out of the door—a precaution always present in the cop's house—before opening the door and smiling.

"Joyce!" She greeted with genuine happiness.  
Even if she was anxious about Steve, she was still happy to see the kind hearted lady who she'd secretly begun to selfishly view as a mother figure.  
"Hi, sweetheart." Joyce said back, pulling her into a hug before kissing her head "Why don't you grab a toothbrush and clothes then we can be on our way?"  
El gave a small nod before rushing back into the house to do just that. No time to waste! What if she missed dad's call?  
*******  
Joyce glanced over at her travelling companion, brows furrowed with worry. She knew that Eleven wasn't the most vocal of children but she was a generally very sweet and joyful one. Seeing the girl discover and fall in love with new things gave life a whole new glow for Joyce too. None of that brightness was present tonight, she looked really sullen and worried. She could brush it off on Hopper leaving in the middle of their bedtime routine but as upsetting as she was sure that must be, El knew her father's occupation and this probably wasn't the first night this'd happened. Maybe it was a really dangerous situation? Like apprehending an armed murderer or something? But Joyce knew how overprotective Jim was, she doubted he'd disclose such disturbing details to his young daughter. So what then? It couldn't be anything to do with the Upside down, Joyce liked to think that Hopper would have come to her if it was. Still, she knew that sometimes pushing wasn't the best thing. She trusted El to come to her if she wanted to talk, and if she did Joyce's ears would be open.

The drive passed in companionable—if slightly anxious—silence, filled only by the constant hum of nighttime radio. As she pulled up the house, Joyce saw the curtain's of Will's bedroom flutter, biting back a smile. Her sweet boy had done that ever since he was little, always watched by the window when he knew she was coming home soon till he saw the car pulling up. Her heart panged as she thought of all the things her son, both her sons, had been through. Still, after everything they were still her lovely boys.  
"Alright, El. We're here!" She said with a smile, hopping out of the car and opening the door for the girl "Jonathan and Will are happy to sleep together so you can use Will's bed. Or I can make up the front like a sleepover for you two."  
"Sleepovers are fun." El agreed with a small smile.  
"Alright, sleepover it is." Joyce said with a smile "I know you've probably eaten but I'll make some snacks. You can watch a movie, but just one you and Will are growing kids and need your sleep."

Joyce opened the door, beckening El into the warmth of the house. Hawkins was never a warm place but at night time the wind bit deep, and the poor girl was in nothing but her pyjamas. Curiously, El ran straight to the phone—newly installed and working just fine now—when she got in, not even stopping to say hi to Will which was unusual because the two quiet children just seemed to click, getting each other talking like no one else did. So she was correct in assuming whatever had El so worked up was to do with wherever Hopper was. Seeing the girl so worried had Joyce beginning to feel anxious too. Surely the man couldn't be in too much danger, right? If so then El wouldn't just let herself be babysat till he came back, she'd probably be off trying to help. With that internal assurance, Joyce let her worries and curiosity drop from her mind. Maybe El would confide in her after she received the phone call she was waiting for, maybe it would make her feel less anxious.

"Is everything alright, mom?" Jonathan asked, eying El as he walked in, who seemed to be having a staring contest with the phone.  
"Yes, sweetheart, Hopper just had to work late and she needed somewhere to stay." She explained "I'm glad he told her to call, I hate the idea of El being left on her own up there, especially at night."  
"Well, she's not so there's no need to worry about it." He said with a small smile "I gotta go finish off some work soon. Should I put the kettle on for hot cocoa first though?"  
"You're a mind reader. Yes, thank you." Joyce said with a fond smile, managing to get a quick peck to his cheek before he squirmed away.  
She didn't care what he said, he would be her baby even when he was a hundred.

"Will, sweetheart, could you help me get out the stuff for sleeping in the living room?"  
"Alright, mom." He agreed readily, the pair walking off to the bedroom.  
Will grabbed his own duvet and pillow before taking one of each from the storage cupboard, Joyce pulling along a portable mattress. This stuff was put to good use, it seemed like there was always at least one of her son's friends staying over. She didn't mind at all, she loved those kids. Joyce didn't mind letting El and Will sleep together in the front, she trusted them. In fact, the thought of objecting it didn't even occur till her mind wandered to how Jim would probably flip out, overprotective father as he was. But El was a sensible girl, and in a—shockingly committed for a child—relationship with Mike, and she knew her Will was definitely trustworthy. Besides, those two kids had been through so much it made Joyce's heart ache. They could do with some time with a friend in a familiar, safe place.

Joyce had just begun setting out the sleeping arrangements—Will helping without being asked, the sweet boy he was—when the phone rang. That wasn't startling in itself but the chaotic rush El took to pick it up was, Joyce gasping in surprise at the clatter of plastic on plastic as she rushed to pick it up.  
"Dad?" The little girl called out eagerly.  
Joyce knew she shouldn't stare, this was private for El and Hopper, whatever they were saying she didn't need to know. But she just couldn't help herself! Joyce reasoned internally that El was under her care and whatever was happening was clearly bothering her, therefore making it her business since she had the duty of care.

"Are you alright? Is he?" A pause "Oh." Another pause "Hospital?"  
At that, Joyce felt her heart beating hard with anxiety, a million thoughts racing through her head, each worse than the last.  
"But—! ...Alright."  
El frowned into the phone "Promise?" Whatever the response was seemed to satisfy her.  
"That's alright, I understand. You should stay. I'm good here." El paused again, listening intently "Goodnight ...Sweet dreams ...Bye."  
With that, she set the phone back onto the receiver. She didn't look any less worried but at least somehow less antsy and impatient. El let out a soft sigh, sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands wringing together. Seeing the girl look so upset made something shift inside Joyce. That was it, she was going to ask El what was going on. She couldn't help of she didn't know! Joyce opened her mouth to voice her concerns but before she could make a sound, she was cut off by El speaking.

"That was Hop." She said in a small voice, turning her gaze so she was finally looking up at the three of them.  
Will and Jonathan had come too, standing beside their mother. El didn't seem to mind, addressing them all. Her eyes were wide and filled with a sort of intensity and desperation, like she was trying to make them understand something urgent through the look alone but they just couldn't understand.  
"He… got a call earlier. It was Steve." The name came out fast, like she struggled to say it "He's hurt."  
There was a pause after that, her eyes going distant like she was remembering something. None of the other three knew what to say and before they thought of anything, she was speaking again.  
"Hop says it's not too bad." She clarified "Pain but not…" El's eyes widened at the thought of anything worse happening, unable to say it "Dad's taking him to the hospital, he'll stay with him tonight."  
Joyce's chest felt tight and painful at the thought of the kind young man who'd grown so familiar and close over the past few years being hurt, hurt enough to warrant a police and hospital visit, and El to look like she might cry.

"What… what happened?" She found herself saying, though her lips felt numb.  
El gave a small shake of her head "Don't know." Her voice sounded shaky and tearful, and that snapped Joyce out of whatever funk she was in.  
"Oh, El." She gasped out, quickly pulling her into a hug, feeling the poor girl crumble in her grasp, hearing soft sobs. She felt so small.  
"Did you see it, honey?" Joyce asked in a gentle voice.  
She felt El nod against her chest.  
"Well, that must have been very scary." She consoled "It'll be alright. Your father is the best of the best, alright? Steve is safe now, and if he's in hospital that's good. They can give him medicine which will make him stop hurting."  
She felt another small nod. Joyce looked up and saw a very worried looking Will standing to the side. She smiled comfortingly, opening her other arm welcomingly, pulling Will to his chest too when he came.

"I understand that you kids are worried about Steve." Joyce said in a gentle voice "I am too. We all love him and no one wants to see him hurt, it's a terrible thing. But we can't change it now. What we can do is look after ourselves. Make sure we get a good night's sleep so tomorrow we will be fresh and ready to go see him in hospital. We can help him by making sure he feels loved and remembers he has friends. I'll take you all to the hospital to see him tomorrow, okay? I promise."  
She shifted so she could look both children in the eyes and smile encouragingly.  
"For now, though, why don't we put on a movie? Snuggle up in the blankets and have some hot cocoa." She suggested.  
"I'm just finishing those off!" Jonathan called from the kitchen.  
"Perfect." Joyce said with a smile before turning to the kids "What do you say."  
They both hesitated before nodding with small smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? More angsty? Less angsty? Did you like the other character bits or should I stick to Billy and Steve? Tell me what you think in the comments!
> 
> Also, the chapter title is from the song Hazy Shade of Winter.


End file.
